


Life Would Be A Dream (If Only My Precious Plans Would Come True)

by Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox



Series: Another Dime In the Jukebox (Play It Again) [2]
Category: The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Eo meets the flash, M/M, They're on the Justice League together, Time Travel, and eventually marries barry, and goes back, kills the Flash's mother, they're married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-06-03 17:23:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6619615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox/pseuds/Themadwomanwhoisunfortunatelylackingabox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eobard Thawne is married to Barry Allen. This does not make him any better of a person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bye, Bye Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Bye, bye love.  
>  Bye, bye happiness.  
> Hello loneliness,  
> I think I'm gonna cry.
>>
>>> Eobard Thawne woke up next to Barry Thawne and smiled. It was not necessarily a flattering smile, but it stretched across his face like a cat who got the cream, lazily and full of sincerity. In this lighting, he could see the patterns in the freckles across Barry's back; constellations on creamy white skin. Were he a different man, he might have traced them out, like an invisible game of connect-the-dots. As it was, he only ran a hand across them, caressing the dip behind his shoulder blades and trailing a finger along his spine. Beautiful.

Barry shifted slightly, the slow, luxurious turn of someone who wanted to stay in bed for hours more. Ah, how he wished he could have indulged him. Had they the time, he would have curled around him, pressed kisses onto old love-bites and waited for him to wake up in full. And when Barry blinked open his sleep-bleary eyes, Eobard would have pressed him down into the mattress and whispered  _mine_ into his ear, watching him beg and keen with his big, wide eyes. He would have stayed like that for hours, Barry holding onto the headboard for dear life as he brought him to the edge again and again and again, until he allowed Barry to let go and caress his face, begging, _pleading_ , for Eobard to let him come. And it would only be after he said:“I’m yours, yours, only yours—you know this, nobody else can touch me, I wouldn’t want them to— God, Eo, _please—”_ would he end his suffering with a kiss and a steady hand. 

Alas, alas, such dreams were not for them. “Barry,” he said into his ear, somewhere between a whisper and a purr. 

He groaned, curling up closer to his chest. “Five more minutes, Eo.” 

Oh, he was weak when he had his husband curled up against his chest, sleepy and warm. However, he would never let it be said that Eobard Thawne could not be cruel. “Barry,” he said again, nipping at the skin beneath his ear. 

“Eo,” he murmured, blinking up at him, bleary-eyed and smiling. “Had a dream ‘bout you, y’know,” he mumbled, yawning. “We were…somewhere. Running. No—you were chasing me.” 

7:54. He could indulge him for a minute or two. “Did I catch you?” He traced a finger along the curve of his neck, the tender flesh delicate beneath his skin. One wrong move—and perhaps he wouldn’t be dead; that was a bit too dramatic, a bit too macabre, even for him. Still, it would bruise dark and purple; a mark on his neck like a necklace, or a _collar_. 

“Did you catch me?” Barry laughed, glancing up through his eyelashes like some sort of debutante: all unknowing charm and sweet allure. “Of course you caught me. You always catch me.”

His hand stilled for a moment; he closed his eyes and soaked in the words. “Yes,” he said, a smile fighting to form on his lips. “I suppose I will.” _You’re mine._

Barry sighed, turning over so he could face him directly and burrow his face into his chest.

“However, you do still have a meeting with the rest of the Justice League in,” Eobard checked the clock again, “five minutes.”

“Shit!” Barry jumped out of bed, a red streak flashing behind him. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier, you bastard,” He said, but there was a grin in his voice.

“Super villain,” he called back.

“In your dreams, Eo.” He rolled his eyes. “You gave up on the super villainy ages ago.”

“Go to your meeting, Barry.”

“You know, if you just gave up this consulting only basis—”

“I would be stuck going to meetings with you? Oh no, I don’t think so.” he said, stretching languidly on the warm sheets. Mm, they still smelled like him. Nice. Perhaps he would just lie here for a few more hours while Barry had his tedious meeting with the League. That wouldn't be so bad, dozing in the sunshine for a bit.

“—You would have a reason to get out of your department leader meetings, _Professor_ Thawne.”

What. No, it wasn’t the twenty-ninth yet, was it? It couldn’t be the twenty-ninth. The twenty-ninth was at least two weeks away still, of course it was. “Gideon, what is today’s date?” 

“April 29th 2436, Professor.”

“I may need to take you up on that offer after all,” he deadpanned. Alas, the other speedster only laughed and kissed him quickly before he ran out of the room. 

What a traitor, leaving him to deal with department leader meetings alone. Of _course_ Barry arranged their meetings so that he wouldn’t have to go. Well. Barry would just have to see who ended up with the funding for the new equipment, then, wouldn’t he? Because it certainly wasn’t going to be him.

* * *

In the end, it hardly mattered that he went to that meeting anyway. Half an hour into it, before they had finished with the pleasantries, and far before Professor Tennyson’s newest postdoc was ever going to show, the city was under alert. The entire department had crowded around the meagre television in someone’s office, he wasn’t sure whose.  A new super villain had set its sights on Central City, apparently. As if it wasn’t public knowledge that not only was the city under the protection of the Justice League, but also the Reverse Flash. Eobard was almost wounded. Was he no longer as fear-inducing as he used to be? Back when he was Central City’s top villain, these insects hardly dared to cross the city line. Did they think that just because he occasionally liked to play on the side of the angels, that he no longer existed? Tsk. Uppity bastards. Ah well, the Justice League would defeat this _villain du jour_ in three seconds flat _,_ and the natural order of things would be restored again.

Except—

The villain actually appeared to be winning.

The news anchor was a flustered woman in a bright red blazer and smudged lipstick, shuffling notecards around in a rush. “—The Blight, as they appear to be calling her, has abandoned her attack on Wonder Woman and Batman, apparently to focus on the Flash instead—”

_Barry_.

A flash of purple light, and the television turned into static. “You don’t think—” some nameless postdoc said, fidgety and blond. 

“Don’t be an idiot, Rene. The Justice League always wins.” 

The Justice League always won…not true. They weren't infallible. As much as some members would like to believe otherwise, most of them were mortal. _Barry_ was mortal. 

He disappeared from the room in a yellow blur, and  reappeared in the city square, amongst the chaos. The Blight glowered down from the gray sky above, suspended midair. Her eyes glowed purple as black curls whipped around her face, and her hands shot purple light down at the street below. And when the light hit the ground, everything that had been there was blown to bits. 

If he counted right, at least three members of the League had already fallen prey to her. Wonder Woman was still on the ground, of course, though she was winded and was bleeding profusely. Superman fared similarly, and Barry… 

Barry was zig-zagging across the road, narrowly avoiding each blow, and each time it felt like she got closer. It almost nicked his arm, once, and blood and lightning ran so heavily in Eobard's veins he could almost hear them. She shot again, and missed. 

The next time she did, her aim was perfect. Bright light hurtled towards the Flash, who was attempting to speed some civilian away from harm. Time seemed to slow down; adrenaline and speed force coursed through him with equal ferociousness, and he was already running before he even realized that he was. 

(He had always liked stories of saving the damsel in distress.)

He threw his body into his husband’s, and then there was only blinding light.

* * *

 

He breathed, gasping in ozone and the scent of asphalt in ninety degree weather. His hands were still shaking, he could barely see: it had barely been noon, but now it was pitch black. 

Something cracked when he stumbled, but he felt no pain. He blinked, eyes adjusting: it was only a twig. He was fine. He curled his fingers and toes; still nothing. He was fine.

He hadn’t been obliterated.

The meta’s superpower, obviously, had not been mindless destruction. So what was it, if not that? Teleportation? Maybe if he had gone far enough, it could have gone from day to night. Perhaps time passed when she transported him. None of that mattered, of course. He steadied himself and began running. 

…or not? No, he was still running, but not like usual. He couldn’t feel the speed force race through his veins, urging him on faster, faster, faster. 

No. He tried again. Still, there was no lightning in his veins. He couldn’t go any faster than any normal human. _No_. His heart started pounding so fast he almost thought the speed force had returned to him, but it hadn’t. 

Not only that, but this looked nothing like the Central City that he knew, and it didn’t look anything like cities halfway around the world were supposed to look like, with traditionalist architecture and endless light. This was different, older. Different, and almost…familiar. He had been here before.He just didn’t know when. 

He passed by a street sign that was barely visible in the dull light from the lamppost. Washington and Fillmore. Strange, Barry had grown up on a Washington Street. Wait—

Barry had _grown up_ —

_—oh god no—_

—on a Washington Street.

He knew exactly where he was. And, staring down at the white picket fences that had gone out of style centuries ago, he knew exactly when, too.

“Gideon, What is today’s date.” His voice almost cracked.

“August 25th, 2000, Professor Thawne.” 

The day he killed Nora Allen.

_He could stop it, this time,_ he almost let himself believe. He could save himself all the years of pain and heartbreak, and when his past counterpart met Barry again, he’d be able to meet him without anger, without guilt. He could meet Barry Allen and romance him, woo him,tell him all the things he should have told him so much earlier than he actually did, but.This Eobard Thawne wanted none of those things. This Eobard Thawne set out to kill the Flash. This Eobard Thawne had no love in his heart. Not yet. 

Not to mention, if he stepped in, if he saved her, what if the timeline decided to change? What if Nora Allen surviving changed Barry, what if—

(His wedding ring was an antique thing, passed down from generation to generation. It was a bit too loose, and could slip right off if he wasn’t careful enough, but that didn’t stop him from wearing it.)

He couldn’t risk the timeline changing. No matter what the cost. Even if he regretted it for the rest of his life, even if Barry would never forgive him, his Barry Allen needed to exist. Above all other things, Barry’s future could not change.

 

The man who could no longer be known as Eobard Thawne sat unassumingly along the curb of a road, and watched as two blurs from a time a long past—or maybe from a time long to come—disappeared inside of a small house on the middle of the street. Minutes passed. Maybe hours. A yellow streak escaped from the back of the house, about to find out that his speed had been temporarily depleted from the time jump. That man would fear that his speed had disappeared completely, that he was stuck in this time, marooned seemingly forever, and a plan would begin to form. 

Eventually, many miles over, Harrison Wells would die in a car accident which was no accident, and Eobard’s past self would have already stolen his body before he realized that his speed was not gone forever. 

Police cars showed up outside of the Allen house. 

The past Eobard Thawne sped toward 2425 in a body that wasn’t his.

The man who would be known as Harrison Wells stood and watched with cold blue eyes. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'know, usually i end these things saying how this definitely all kyele's fault ;), but this one had a mind of it's own, i swear to god. it was begging to be written. 
> 
> Title is from this song: https://www.youtube.com/watchv=SBgQezOF8kY


	2. These Foolish Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > You came, you saw, you conquered me  
> When you did that to me  
> I knew somehow this had to be
>>
>>> Eobard Thawne woke up next to nothing and no one, and he did not smile. Nearly the minute he woke, he crawled out of bed. He did not linger in his sheets, reaching for warmth that wasn’t there. He did not wake up in the middle of the night, grasping for someone he wouldn’t reach. He slept dreamlessly, and he woke quickly, and the cold of his bed hadn’t bothered him for years.

The chrome of his floors was cool against his feet, but he hardly flinched. The morning went by without notice, and without pleasure.

Until: “Gideon, show me the future.”

A newspaper article appeared: June twentieth, 2430. _Science Frontrunners Married At Last._ Below it, him and Barry on their wedding day.  
(Barry’s smile stretched from ear to ear, so wide and so bright that Eobard’s heart skipped almost painfully. _Doctor And Mr. Thawne,_ the caption read.)

He breathed. In: one, two, three. Out: one, two, three. The future remained intact. 

Eobard Thawne left for Star Labs with nothing on his mind but theorems and equations.

There was work to be done.

* * *

 

When he returned, hands nearly shaking from frustration, he took off his glasses and sighed. Uncorking a bottle of merlot with perhaps more force—and speed force—than necessary, he tried to let the tension ease out of his shoulders. His connection to the speed force was at most splotchy and unstable these days, but there was some comfort in being able to use it, however little it may be.

“Gideon,” he always ended up saying in the end, voice hoarse and as tired as the rest of him. “Show me Barry Allen.” 

A pause. “Certainly, Professor Thawne.”

His Barry probably wouldn’t approve if he knew he was doing this. His Barry would probably tell him that it was invasive, or creepy, or wrong. His Barry would never have any idea exactly how trying it was, explaining theories that had become laws a century ago. His Barry was called Barry Thawne instead of Barry Allen, and Eobard would chose him over his past self in less than a second.

Unfortunately, all he had was Barry Allen. Barry Allen, who was teenaged and gawky, had braces, and yet was still the most beautiful person Eobard had ever seen. Most days, at this time, he was quietly doing math homework, or talking with Iris about some inane subject.

Those days were best, the days where Barry talked. His voice, by this point, was almost the same as it was when Barry was older: familiar and warm.

Sometimes he fell asleep like that, watching him go about his day, listening to his voice. Most days, of course, he was not that pitiful. Most days he finished his wine, ate a calorie supplement, and went to bed. But sometimes—

It was nice, to hear his voice again.

* * *

 

Hartley Rathaway had been a mistake. He was a ticking time bomb of hero-worship and emotional instability, and Eobard should have seen this coming ages ago. 

Unfortunately, all Eobard had wanted to see for the past four years was the particle accelerator. Hartley was brilliant, but if Eobard wanted to accelerate the accelerator’s timeline, The genius boy behind it would be nowhere near enough. (The first time he went back in time, when he thoughtlessly killed Harrison Wells because he thought he was stuck here, the timeline fixed itself. The particle accelerator was created by Hartley Rathaway and Cisco Ramon in 2024, and they went down in the history books as the people who brought Central City—and the rest of the world—a brighter future. Or rather, they would have, had the accelerator not failed, creating metahumans and superheroes and monsters in one disastrous downward stroke.)

In the end, the tightrope of emotions Rathaway had been walking on broke at the Star Labs Christmas party that Eobard had been begged to throw. Hartley came to him, seeking refuge in the quiet of Eobard’s office, a glass of eggnog in hand. “Not exactly my type of party,”he said instead of a greeting, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“No,” Eobard didn’t take his eyes off of the schematics on his desk. “Not mine, either.”

“Yeah.” 

Perhaps he should have known what was going to happen from the moment he stepped in the door. He was all puppy eyes and liquid courage, and neither of which were particularly like Hartley. 

“Dr. Wells—”

He sighed, taking off his glasses and turning towards him. “What is it?”

He was met with lips crashing into his.

He froze. For a second, or perhaps it was a minute, or perhaps it was an hour: it was always so hard to tell as a speedster, but for a second, he considered. Rathaway was beginning to grow suspicious, beginning to look at aspects of the accelerator that he should not look at. I f he…had a liaison…with Eobard, then he would trust him. He would believe him when he said, y _es, Hartley, of course we’ve run all the tests._ There would be no reason for Eobard to lie to him, except all the reasons there are actually were. With Hartley as emotionally volatile as he was, there would be no question of him going to anyone else with his concerns, either. Just Eobard, who would brush them aside and distract him with far more pleasant things.

So he considered. It was only logical. In making Hartley more dependent on him, he not only stopped his concerns in their tracks, but also stopped the rumors from growing. He considered.

And then he hated himself for it immediately afterwards. He pushed the boy off him, somehow  not even using the speed force to do it. “Hartley,” He began, gently of course, no need to turn the boy against him more than he had to. “While I am very flattered by your, ah, affections, you must understand. I am a—” _—married man—_ “—widower. And though you are certainly an appealing man, Hartley, I’m simply afraid that I am in no position to, ah, have any romantic entanglements.” 

“Right,” Hartley said, stiffly, not meeting his gaze. “Of course. I should—I should go.”

He disappeared in a flurry of ruffled hair and pain so strong it could be felt in the air. It would take a while for his trust to be regained, for the situation to tide over, but it just couldn’t be helped. Mr. Rathaway would simply have to be distracted in some other way.

He paged through Star Labs job applications and pulled one out. Fortunately for him, there was a future wedding certificate that said there was someone who could make Hartley Rathaway very, very distracted.

 

Cisco Ramon was hired within a week.

* * *

 

Barry would have liked Cisco. Hartley, on the other hand, seemed more likely to join the Olympic gymnastics team than to have anything to do with him. How those to ever got married was beyond him.

On the bright side, there was no one else working on the particle accelerator who would ever listen to Hartley’s safety concerns. He was, for all extents and purposes, isolated from the rest of the group. Caitlin and Ronnie found him brusque and pretentious, and Cisco might as well have been his nemesis.

Actually, considering Eobard’s track record with nemeses, he could definitely see how Cisco and Hartley became a couple. Perhaps their relationship began with hate: boiling rage and fevered kisses, breaking each other apart with a caress because they couldn’t do it with a fist. Perhaps one day he’d find them in a supply closet with their clothes in disarray, and that would be that. Perhaps, eventually, their feelings would mellow: staying strong but growing far sweeter, and he’d find them holding hands in the cortex instead of canoodling in a cupboard. 

It didn’t exactly work that way. Instead of venting their frustrations in a rational way, they decided instead to act like children. 

On Monday, it was tryingto pull seniority.

(“Listen, Cisquito, when you’ve worked here for five years, like I have, you can have the newbies get your coffee for you.”

...

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Everyone knows you don’t interrupt Dr. Wells in his office. Give me your reports, you obviously don’t know what's going on.”)

 

Still, he chalked it up to Hartley pulling on Cisco’s pigtails, and thought nothing of it.

Tuesday, it was those very reports that were the problem. “I’m terribly sorry, Dr. Wells, it seems _Francisco_ has lost his reports. Not exactly professional of him, but then again, he doesn’t seem to take anything else seriously.”

The reports, Eobard knew, were actually lodged inside the air duct by the second floor chemistry lab, and not by Cisco. Still, all he did was send Hartley a disapproving look, and continued on. 

When Hartley brought him coffee the next day, he thought it was perhaps an apology, or maybe born from his lingering affections.When Cisco brought him coffee the next day, sugary and just the way he never let anyone know he liked, he thought it was just a gesture of goodwill: for hiring him, or for Cisco “misplacing” his reports and potentially setting them back. 

By Friday he knew it was a blatant attempt at bribery.

When they started stealing each other’s work, as long as he ended up with all the proper papers, he was fine. It wasn’t as if Cisco didn’t steal from Hartley as much as Hartley stole from Cisco, after all. 

It was only when they started erasing each others’ names on the equipment waiting lists that it started to irritate him.On one hand, Hartley was definitely far too distracted to even think about flaws in the accelerator. On the other hand, their projected launch date was slowly slipping further and further behind schedule. That couldn’t be allowed.

“Don’t you think they’re getting a bit…out of hand?” He said to Caitlin and Ronnie one day. With any luck, they would take that as a hint and sort it out themselves. 

“I don’t know what we’d be able to do about it,”Caitlin said, hardly looking up from her papers.

“I don’t think that hatred can be remedied that easily,” Ronnie agreed, paging through his reports lackadaisically. 

“Something has to be done about it.”

“You’re certainly welcome to try, Doctor Wells.”

Of course they were no help. He would need to find a way to make them ‘kiss and make up,’so to speak, himself. 

If this were a trashy romance novel, he might lock them in the biochem lab, or have there be a mysterious elevator accident while they were both inside. Unfortunately, not even he was that cliche. and though those options did cater to his flair for the dramatic, they weren’t guaranteed to work. No, it would be best to stick to Occam’s razor: the simplest answer was always best.

“Hartley, Cisco, could I see you for a moment in my office?”

When they stumbled into his office, sending each other glares and muttered insults, he was already waiting for them at his desk, arms crossed and staring them in the eyes.“Now,” he said. “I’m not sure exactly what you’re hoping this achieves, but as far as I can see, all it’s managed to do is set us back.”

Cisco opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then thought better of it. Hartley stayed eerily silent, lips pressed together. 

“I don’t care what you two get up to on your own time, but here I expect you to act like civilly, like adults.” He said. “Not like some old married couple.” It wouldn’t hurt to nudge them in the right direction.

“We are _not_ like an old married couple.” Cisco protested.

He raised an eyebrow. Of all the things to comment on, that was the one he chose?

“I mean, um, of course Dr. Wells.” 

He sighed. “That’s all I had to say. You can go.”

Cisco nearly tripped over his feet on the way out. Hartley didn’t even move for a second, just sat there blankly, before following fluidly on the way out.

* * *

 

He had hoped everything would be fixed after that. It wasn’t. Oh yes, they both began to work like civil human beings instead of third graders. Honestly, that should’ve been enough for him to go back to having one focus: The accelerator. Home. 

Unfortunately, It didn’t work out that way. 

The problem was Hartley. Not that he wasn’t working properly, au contraire: He worked nonstop. So much that it was, at first, almost concerning. Then: very concerning. He looked frighteningly pale; so pale that Eobard hoped he was just getting the flu. No luck: a week or two later and he still looked pale. If Hartley wasn’t nearly as vain as he was, Eobard was certain thatthere would have been dark bags under his eyes, too.

“Don’t you think Hartley’s been staying awfully late, lately?” He prodded at Caitlin. “Maybe you and Ronnie should, I don’t know, drag him out for drinks. Whatever you kids do these days.”

Caitlin cleared her throat. “Yeah, Dr. Wells, of course,” her voice was an octave higher than normal. “It’s just, um, Ronnie was taking me out to dinner tonight, so I’m afraid we actually can’t.” She tried to sound apologetic. Bless Caitlin’s soul, but she couldn't lie for her life. 

“Of course.” He repeated with a disapproving look. 

“Mhm,” she said with a smile ten times too forced. “Sorry!”

He sighed. _If you want something done, do it yourself._

* * *

“Hartley, I doubt you ever thought you’d hear this from me, but don’t you think you should take a break?”

Hartley huffed, writing down something furiously fast. “I’m fine, Dr. Wells. Now if you don’t mind, I need to finish this.” 

“You need to get some sleep.”

“What I need to do is finish this equation, Doctor Wells.” 

Eobard pressed his lips into a thin line and let it go. 

* * *

 

Friday, Hartley’s hair was askew and rumpled. Something was terribly wrong.

Eobard moved on to Plan C.

* * *

 

“I dunno, Dr. Wells.” Cisco shifted from foot to foot. “Talk to Hartley? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he hates me. Like, hates me with a capital H, hates me.”

“I would appreciate it if you made an effort, Mr. Ramon.”

“Okay…” Cisco said, casting an uncertain glance at Hartley from across the room. “If you want me to.”

* * *

 

“Listen, Cisquito, if you want to lecture me on working too much, then maybe you haven’t been working _enough_.” Hartley sneered.

Cisco stormed away, flustered and angry.

Hartley, for the most part, looked vindicated. But for a second—a split second—there was hurt there, too.

Eobard leaned back in his chair in the time vault, analyzing the frame again. Perhaps he was going after this the wrong way. Perhaps Hartley didn’t need Eobard to let him work things out himself. Perhaps what he needed was for someone to stand there, despite the backlash and rage, and tell him that no matter what, they’d stay. 

_Oh, Hartley._ He sighed, running a hand down his face. He’d have Cisco do it, he decided. There was no need to encourage any more of Hartley’s romantic feelings for his mentor, if at all possible. Still, if Cisco refused—well. Eobard knew what Hartley was going through all too well.

They were far too alike, sometimes, Hartley and him.

* * *

 

“No way. Talk to Hartley again? I mean, I’m sorry Dr. Wells, but our last chat didn’t exactly go all that great.” Ciscoshook his head vigorously. “I’m not going through that again.”

“Cisco,” He sighed, taking off his glasses and rubbing his eyes. “Please. I’m afraid that I’m rather worried.” For the accelerator, he told himself. Hartley was one of its lead researchers, and if he was neglecting himself, then the accelerator would suffer too. It had nothing to do with Hartley personally. 

Cisco sighed, bit his lip. “ _Fine_. I’ll talk to him again.”

“Thank you. And Cisco—don’t give up on him, would you?”

* * *

“Why are you still here.”

“Oh you know,” Cisco sighed exaggeratedly. “So I can stand. And so I can attempt to have a conversation with you, too, but that’s not exactly working out.”

“You’re incapable of having rational conversations, Cisquito, since you’re incapable of understanding the word _leave_. _”_

“I think you’re incapable of understanding the word _no_.”

“What?”

“As in, _no_ I’m not leaving, no matter what you throw at me.”

All was quiet for a second. Then. “Who put you up to this.”

“What?”

“Don’t play coy. Who put up to this.” His lips drew together; he had a white knuckled grip on the table.

“Why would anyone have to put me up to this?” Cisco, at least, was better at lying than Caitlin was. 

Something like a laugh, or maybe a sob, escaped Hartley’s throat. “Don’t lie to me, Cisco Ramon. You don’t like me. I know you don’t.”

  
“Well it’s not exactly like you’ve been trying very much to make me like you.”Cisco snapped back. Hartley relaxed slightly: insults were familiar territory for him. “That doesn’t mean that I hate you, or can’t tell that you’re practically turning into a zombie. Honestly dude, when was the last time you ate?”

Hartley sucked in a breath like he had been punched in the stomach. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“It’s my business if you pass out in the middle of the lab, so yeah, It’s my business.” He rolled his eyes. “Get your stuff, we’re getting food. If you’re not outside in fifteen minutes, I’m coming back here for you.” He said, pointing to his eyes and then to Hartley, mouthing  _watching you_ from the doorway.

Cisco disappeared into the hallway. Hartley stared at the door for a minute, uncomprehending. Then, a giggle. More. He fell against the lab table in hysterics, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. 

From the other side of the time vault’s monitors, Eobard Thawne sighed in relief.

In the end, Cisco did have to come back for Hartley, but he left the building willingly—quietly—and that was as much of a thank you as Hartley Rathaway ever gave.

* * *

 

“I see Mr. Rathaway is looking much better. Thank you.”

“He’s not that bad, I guess.” Cisco said. “He just…needs somebody to take care of him, sometimes.”

Eobard had to fight back a smirk. “That person being yourself?”

“Uh, I don’t know about that, Dr Wells,” He said. “Listen, I might not hate the guy, but it's not like I’m in love with him. Or that I like him, y’know, beyond human decency.”

Eobard smiled gently, pacifyingly. “Of course. I understand.” He said. He debated the merits of leaving then, of allowing Cisco to come to his own conclusions, and those of pushing him in the right direction. He almost left. Almost. “Did you know, Cisco, when I first met the love of my life, I thought I hated them?”

“What?”

“Oh yes. I thought they hated me too, admittedly. We were, ah, I suppose you could call us nemeses.” He smiled. “But after many years, and one terrible mistake later, I realized: I had no legitimate reason to hate them.”

“Dr. Wells, if this is some story about you pulling your future wife’s pigtails, I’ve already heard a million stories like it."

Eobard sent him a disapproving look, but continued.“—I hated them because I thought they hated me, because I thought that if I hated them, I wouldn’t have to deal with how inadequate I seemed in comparison. I think, Mr. Ramon, that Mr. Rathaway feels quite similarly.”

Cisco stared at him as if he had suddenly sprouted horns, or started claiming that he was the Reverse Flash. “I’m sorry but—why the _hell_ would Hartley feel inadequate. He doesn’t even think that I’m smart. Or can do anything. At all. Except maybe get him food.”

Eobard smiled indulgently. “Cisco, you’re a very capable engineer, handpicked to work on the particle accelerator. Not only that, but you’re good with people. Hartley has never been able to claim that in his life.”

“And you think that because of that, Hartley and I are destined to be tragically in love.” He said. “I dunno, Dr. Wells.”

“Your words, not mine.” 

“…huh.”

* * *

Cisco took Hartley out to lunch the next day, anyway.

* * *

 

And the next.

* * *

 

And the next—

“You’re just going to keep coming around, aren’t you.” 

“Uh, yeah.”

Hartley bit his lip. “…okay.” Everything was silent for a minute. “Hey, Cisquito,” he said, but there was no bite.

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

* * *

 

He came around again. He was waiting for him. 

“You ready?” Hartley asked, slinging his jacket around his shoulders.

Cisco grinned. “Yeah.”

* * *

 

“Cisco.” Hartley said eventually when they returned to the labs.

“Yeah?”

“Stop me from doing this.”

“Doing what—”

He kissed him. “That.” he said, breaking away from him. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He said, eyes wide with mortification, and every inch of his body screaming that he was ready to bolt at any minute. 

“Hartley.”

“I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hartley—”

“Look, I get it, you’re straight—”

Cisco grabbed his wrist. “ _Hartley.”_ He said. “Shut up.” He kissed him. Hartley froze for a moment, and then, like a broken violin string, all the tension sprung from his body at once. Trusting, or the closest he had ever come to it, for the first time in years.

From the time vault, Eobard tried to ignore the twinge of jealousy in his heart. Not for Cisco or Hartley, of course not, but for intimacy. Affection. Love. 

“Gideon,” he sighed, taking his eyes off of the screen. “Show me Barry Allen.”

“Of course, Professor Thawne.”

* * *

 

Some days later, someone tapped on the glass of his office door. Eobard turned around just to see Ronnie stepping inside. “Doctor Wells? Can I—Can I ask you something?”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s, um, it’s Caitlin.”

“What about her?” He said. “Is she alright?”

Ronnie suddenly seemed very interested in the patterns on the floor. “Yeah—yeah, of course she’s fine. It’s just—The thing is—I was wondering, if—”

“Out with it, Mr. Raymond,” he raised an eyebrow.

“Here’s the thing: So, Cait’s dad is dead, and I know she’s not really on speaking terms with her mother, and I was thinking, since y’know, you’re kind of like a surrogate parent for all of us—in a noncreepy way, of course! And I mean obviously you don’t have to, but it would mean a lot to the both of us—”

“Ronnie.”

“—right, right—it would mean a lot to us, if you would, um, give me your blessing to marry her.”

He blinked. “You’re proposing to Caitlin?” He said hoarsely, ignoring how his throat wanted to close up. “Well. I suppose congratulations are in order.”

“Well, I mean, she still has to say yes, but, yeah, I am.” He said. “Which is why I wanted you to give your blessing.”

“Of course, right—you definitely have it, Mr. Raymond.” He smiled, tight with emotion. “I couldn’t think of anyone who could possibly be better for her.”

He felt, strangely, a little bit like crying. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t out of jealousy, god no, and it wasn’t out of sadness. It would be better this way, if they were blissfully engaged. they wouldn’t be able to notice his plans, they’d be so wrapped up in their own little lives: wedding planning and romance. It wasn’t until Ronnie actually hugged him, saying endless thanks, when he realized what it was. Pride.

Ronnie ran out the door. Barry would have liked him, too. 

Barry would’ve liked them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a billion thank you's, again, to Kyele who let me whine and complain to her about this chapter, reigned in my overdramatic tendencies, provided priceless insight on Hartley's character, and also came up with the unofficial chapter title: "Eobard Thawne, Matchmaker."


	3. Milord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Je vous connais, milord  
> Vous ne m'avez jamais vue
>> 
>> (I know you, my lord  
> You've never seen me before,)
>>
>>>   


For some time, things were happy around Star Labs. Ronnie proposed to Caitlin, and she accepted, as everyone knew she would, and Cisco and Hartley were nearly inseparable.

Still, all good things had to end.

“Just what do you think you’re doing in my particle accelerator?” It was always going to have to come down to this in the end, wouldn't it?

“Your particle accelerator? I thought it was ours.” Hartley said. The room was silent except for their breathing, and the hum of machinery. Somewhere down the hall there was a security team waiting to escort Hartley out of the building, if necessary.

“Hartley…” He didn’t want to hurt him. He never did. He had hoped, of course, that Hartley’s suspicions could hold out until the date of the launch, when it was too late to change anything. He had hoped, of course, that he wouldn’t have to resort to this.

“You know, don’t you? That there are flaws built into it. That if you keep it like this, people will die.”

He sighed. For a moment, just a moment, he imagined telling him the truth. Hartley was fond enough of the theoretical to believe him, and, despite how much he liked to claim otherwise, was enough of a hopeless romantic to help him. Hartley’s help on the time ship would be incomparable, even if he was only versed in twenty-first century technology. At the very least, he would be someone to talk to. Someone other than Gideon who knew what he was going through. Someone who knew that he didn’t belong.

Alas, that could never work. It was too much of a risk. Anyone knowing was too much of a risk: The timeline was too volatile. One wrong move and the particle accelerator could be delayed for years. One wrong move, and one of the events that led to his marriage could be lost forever. One wrong move, and he could find himself in a very different future. 

He couldn’t let sentiment get in the way of that. “Hartley Rathaway, your position at STAR Labs is terminated immediately.”

The disbelief, the betrayal, the pain in his eyes cut harder than any words Hartley might have thrown at him. He never was any good at hiding his emotions. 

Eobard watched him leave.

He had to remind himself that his Barry was more important than anything else. That going home was more important than anything else.

The ends always justified the means.

* * *

“What do you mean, Hartley just left? Hartley doesn’t just leave.”   


“We had a disagreement.” He said. “He decided to seek employment elsewhere.”

“It just doesn’t make sense. Hartley loves it here. He wouldn’t just go.” _Not without saying goodbye_ hung heavily in the air. Oh, Cisco. “He’ll be back.”

Eobard didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

* * *

  


The particle accelerator was launched in mid May, in the sort of May where it was more like June than May: warm and rainy and lilac scented. Barry, he already knew, was coming. He had talked about nothing else for the past three weeks. It was rather endearing.

(More and more, he slept listening to his voice, listening to him speak. It had been so long since he had heard Barry talk about him. He had forgotten what that felt like, that elated rush of excitement mellowing out into warmth.)

The night before the accelerator exploded, he dreamt of Barry crowned in red and white roses, and he took it as a sign. No matter what, he had to return to him. He always had to return to him.

Nothing else mattered. He was a fool to have forgotten.

* * *

  


When he woke, when he left, the sun shined down on Central City, as if all the world glimmered golden just for the launch of the accelerator. As if all the world glimmered golden, the closer he got to his goal. 

Soon, he reminded himself, twisting his wedding ring around his finger, he would go home. The worst was over. He had spent fifteen years waiting, watching, creating theorem after theorem and always, always wishing he was home. Now, all there was would be a year more, at most. One more year. 

Home felt so close he could practically see it.

Barry felt so close.

* * *

  


Barry was in the crowd.

Barry was _in the crowd._

He knew, on a theoretical level, that he would be there at the accelerator’s launch. He had heard him talk about it for weeks and weeks on end. That didn’t—that didn’t prepare him for seeing him there, twenty-something (twenty five, his mind corrected, twenty five and three months and twelve days, exactly,)and beautiful. Beautiful, and there. Real. Living flesh instead of a screen, a photo. Living flesh instead of a creature made out of memories and longing. A living man instead of a child, a memory, a hero—

The lights glared down on him. For a minute, (or a second, or an hour,) he forgot how to breathe. Barry Allen. His Barry Allen.

Barry _Allen_ , not his Barry, he reminded himself. Never his Barry, because if he was his Barry, he wouldn’t have to correct himself every time he began to say his last name. Never his Barry, because he could see the excitement and naivety behind his eyes, even from this far away.

He was so young. So unbearably young. He had never seen Barry this young before, not in person. He had watched him; he had read his papers, but he had never actually seen him before. He had never actually been in the same room as him. 

For a second—(or a minute, or an hour,)—he dreamed of delaying the accelerator explosion, of walking out into the crowd and taking him to bed, this Barry—this young, beautiful Barry who was so much like his own. So much like his own.

He hated himself for thinking that. They were so much alike, but he  still wasn't him. His Barry was waiting centuries in the future, his Barry loved him, knew him. This Barry didn’t know him; he had to remind himself of that, staring into wide, naive brown eyes. Didn’t know the actual him, at least. He knew Harrison Wells, or at least this mixture of Wells and Eobard, and he adored him, but hero worship was never the same thing as love.

_Barry Allen,_ he told himself. Barry _Allen._ This Barry, as beautiful as he was, still wasn’t perfect. He didn’t belong to him.

He cleared his throat, began to speak. The future stopped for no one. Not even for Barry Allen.

* * *

  


When the ashes cleared, nothing was the same. Ronnie was dead. Hartley was already gone. Caitlin and Cisco were barely holding it together. He had to pretend to be paralyzed to hide his secret.

Still... somewhere, across the city, Barry Allen slept. Somewhere, across the city, Barry Allen’s heart beat too fast for any monitor to catch.

Eobard stared at him through cameras, watching pale limbs and red lips. He held back from running towards him, from taking him into his arms, from speeding him to a place where he could be safe.

Patience, he reminded himself. Joe West wouldn’t take kindly to his adoptive son disappearing without notice. No, best to wait. A week or two, maybe a month, then he could take him to Star Labs. Then, as always, it would only be a matter of time.


	4. I'm Making Believe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > I'm making believe  
> That you're in my arms  
> though I know you're so far away  
> Making Believe,  
> Is just another way of dreaming  
> Making believe it's you
>>
>>>  

Barry laid in a bed in the center of the cortex, too-pale skin against white sheets. Eobard knew, theoretically, that it would take him nine more months before he woke up again. He could wait. Compared to the fifteen years it had taken to get here, nine months was nothing at all.

But…He looked so fragile. So soft. So easy to break. It was hard to remember that his body was actually making itself stronger than ever. That it was becoming stronger, better, faster. Like this, he looked more doll-like than anything: porcelain and so easy to break.

He held out trembling hands, but didn’t touch. Couldn’t let himself touch. If he touched, either the pale rose of his lips—were they still soft? Speedsters never got chapped lips. The regeneration factor was too quick. Barry’s lips, especially, were in a constant state of plushness. He reached—

He didn’t touch. He wavered, a centimeter, a millimeter away, but still didn’t touch. If he touched—if he touched—

He wasn’t sure what would happen. But something inside him felt like it would break, like it would snap in half.

He didn’t touch. He quivered, his resolve wavered, but he didn’t touch. He drew away slowly, carefully. He watched, instead. Watching Barry—well, he knew how to do that, at least.

* * *

 

Days passed into weeks. The warm, rainy May turned into a dandelion infested June, just on the cusp of a sweltering July. He flinched at the date: June 30th. It was their anniversary, today.Had he been home, he might have picked up flowers and tucked them behind Barry’s ears. Had he been home, he might have planned for weeks what to do. Had he been home, he might have carried Barry to bed and refused to leave. Had he been home—

Well. He wasn’t home, was he? “Cisco, Caitlin,” he called with a sigh, taking off his glasses. “Take the rest of the day off.”

They startled. Of course they did: he was fairly certain he hadn’t given them the rest of the day off for no reason since they started. “Dr. Wells, are you sure that’s a good idea? So soon after the accelerator, I mean—” Caitlin cut off, biting her lip. 

“With all due respect, Dr. Snow, there isn’t anything else for you to be doing. You might as well not be in the building.”

There were some hushed whispers between the two, something about not wanting to leave him alone from Caitlin, and something about not treating him like an invalid from Cisco.

“Alright, Dr. Wells, we’re heading out. Do you need a ride?”

“No,” he said, not taking his eyes off of Barry. “I’m staying a bit longer. Need to make sure Mr. Allen gets his dinner, after all.” He said, brandishing an IV bag.

They said their goodbyes, and the door swung shut behind them. He was alone. 

Well—not quite. “Do you remember when we first met? Not as the Flash and the Reverse, but when we met? Back when we were both young, and I still had the body I was born with.”

Barry Allen said nothing. Of course not. The only response was the hum of machinery and the occasional beep of the monitors. 

“I remember.” He said, abandoning all pretenses and sitting beside him. Perhaps it was better that this Barry couldn’t speak. He could pretend, this way. Pretend he wasn’t in a coma, but just sleeping in. It was their anniversary, after all, and Barry was always fond of taking advantage of any opportunity for more sleep. Eobard, of course, was always willing to take advantage of any opportunity to watch Barry sleep. He was so soft, when he slept. So trusting. “You had been picking dandelions. It was May, nearly June, and I had just finished my lecture when I found you.

“I say _found_ —I hadn’t been looking for you, not really. I didn’t know who you were. But the minute I walked out that door: sunlight nearly blinding me, and you, enveloped in golden light, I knew you were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. From that moment, I had to have you. I didn’t know your name, but I knew. Either I would have you, or I would have no one at all.

“I spun a million futures in my head, in that moment. In every one, I had you. In every one, you belonged to me.” He reached out, nearly touching Barry’s hair but faltering. “I didn’t even approach you, at first. I couldn’t. All I could do was stand there, reveling in all the potential futures, all the possible ways that this story could play out. It felt like an age before I walked over to where you were lying in the grass, blowing dandelion seeds into the air. 

“Then when I was there—I couldn’t speak to you, even then. I don’t think it’s possible for me to describe what I was feeling in that moment. You were still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, grinning up lazily from the ground, grass clinging to your hair. You were still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, even with your gawky limbs and your ancient way of dressing.You were still the most beautiful thing I had ever seen—” He cut off with a sigh.

On the bed before him, this Barry Allen looked exactly like he had before. Well—not exactly. He was softer, in some ways, than his Barry had been. His hair was somewhat different, too. He wasn’t sure how; it just was. None of that mattered, though. They were small enough differences, they looked similar enough. He could pretend. He could pretend. 

“Do you remember? How I couldn’t bring myself to speak, because I was young and you were looking up at me through your eyelashes? Do you remember?”  
If he tried hard enough, he could pretend that Barry’s eyes blinked open; that he smiled at him, slow and sleepily, just like he had back then. 

“I remember.” He said, allowing himself, finally to touch Barry’s hair, trailing down his cheek. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t. He had forgotten the feeling of his skin under his hands, forgotten the softness of his hair. He had forgotten the way it was impossible to touch Barry Thawne, and not want to love him, not want to possess him in every and all ways imaginable.“I—I remember.

“I couldn’t speak, so you spoke for me. You asked me if I was going to say something, or just stand there. Which of course made me stutter and splutter out some sort of greeting; something about the department, and my name. You laughed at that; not in an insulting way, but in the sort of way that made me wish I was laughing with you too. That moment, I suppose, more than any time before it, was the minute I knew I had to marry you. Before then, I suppose, I was not the sort of man who would stutter. Ever. Nor was I the sort of man who want to who would want to be laughing when people were laughing at me. But you—you changed me. From the minute I saw you. I hadn’t known I could want anyone as much as I wanted you, until that moment. I hadn’t known that I could want at all. But you—you—”

He sighed, a shuddering, sobbing sigh, that seemed to both let out all the pain in the world, and let in all the pain in the world.He ran his hands along Barry’s skin; the curve of his neck, the plushness of his lips—he was struck with the endless need to kiss him, there and then. He didn’t care that it wasn’t his Barry. He didn’t even care that he was unconscious. What he needed, more than anything; more than food or water or even the speed force, was Barry Thawne. 

And where Barry Thawne did not exist, Barry Allen would have to do. He reached in, knotting his hands in his hair, caressing his face almost possessively, leaning so close that he could feel his breath. When he started touching him, he realized too late, it was impossible to stop. He had missed this: skin to skin contact, warmth. The lessening of the icy loneliness which had frozen him so cold he had gone numb to its affects. He shuddered; he still did not kiss him. He knew, even know, that to kiss him was to never turn back. 

This still wasn’t Barry Thawne.

He sighed, pressing his cheek against his cheek, tangling his hands into his hair further and pressing him as close as they could be. He wasn’t him. He wasn’t him. But—he wanted to pretend. He wanted to kiss him as though he would wake up when he did, wanted to kiss him and fall asleep beside him, as though they were back home, in bed. He wanted—He wanted—

He pulled back, untangled his fingers in Barry’s hair. It didn’t matter what he wanted. What he wanted was four hundred years in the future, with a wedding band across his finger. “Do you remember, on our wedding day, when I promised that there would be no one else?” He said, adjusting his glasses out of fear for reaching out again. “When I promised you that I had never loved anyone else in my life, that I would never love anyone ever again. Do you remember?” 

This Barry, of course, didn’t remember. This Barry hadn’t even heard him. This Barry—this Barry didn’t even know that Eobard Thawne existed. 

“Do you remember when I told you that I would do anything to have you? In whatever universe we lived, in whatever time?”

Barry Allen laid unresponsive on the bed. All that could be heard was the buzz of machinery, the beeps of the monitors. He laid there, pale and silent, as if he was a ghost.

_Barry Thawne, Barry Thawne, Barry Thawne,_ his mind whispered traitorously. Maybe he was a sort of ghost, after all. “Do you remember?”

His hands turned into fists, nails biting into the tender flesh of his palm. “I remember.” 

 


	5. It's Been A Long, Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Haven't felt like this, my dear  
> since I can't remember when  
> It's been a long, long time
>> 
>> You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you  
> Or just how empty  
> They all seemed without you  
> 

 

Barry Allen slept. He slept, and he slept, and he slept. For months. Eobard had to remind himself that he used to enjoy watching Barry sleep, that he used to love how trusting he was, how unreserved. He used to love that. He used to. 

He still did, he told himself. He still did, when it was Barry Thawne and not Barry Allen. He still loved watching him turn sleepily, watching him curl into his chest. Even in his sleep, he was moving. 

This Barry Allen slept like the dead. He didn’t move. He didn’t wake up. He laid, cold and still and silent, unlike any Barry he had ever known.

He had done nothing wrong, he had to tell himself. All his calculations had been precise, had been carefully planned out. He and accounted for every variable. And yet—a part of him seized with irrational fear every time he saw Barry on that table. A monster inside of him whispered insidious murmurs of every possible thing that could have gone wrong. Maybe he had too much adrenaline in his system. Maybe Barry actually couldn’t become the Flash this young. Maybe his body couldn’t handle it. Maybe—Maybe—

(Maybe he would never wake up.)

He breathed. In, out. In, out. Barry Allen would become the Flash approximately nine months after the accelerator explosion. He would wake up. He would. There was no other possibility.

After all, what was the Reverse Flash without a Flash?

He could wait. The nine months weren’t even up yet. If the months passed and Barry…didn’t wake up, he could work on other ways to wake him.  
None of that mattered anyway. Barry would wake up. He knew it. It had happened already, after all; he knew the future. ( _The future can be changed,_ a traitorous voice whispered in his head. _The future can always be changed._ ) 

Those days—the days where the anxiety became to much, when something indescribable bubbled up from his chest and formed an unspoken scream in his throat—he escaped to the time vault as soon as he could, hands shaking so hard he could hardly manage to enter the passcode. It didn’t matter how many times he had been there, that day. It didn’t matter that it was pathetic to have to remind himself that many times. On those days, nothing mattered but scrambling inside the vault. “Gideon, show me the future,” he’d say, voice barely kept away from breaking. “Show me Barry Thawne.”

“Of course, Professor Thawne.” Gideon’d say, automated voice softand unassuming. 

He’d hold his breath for a millisecond too long. The newspaper would pop up on the screen. _Science Frontrunners Married At Last._ He’d exhale, and all the energy in his body would escape, too. He’d hate himself, in that minute. If he could bring himself to feel anything, he’d hate himself. He’d sigh, and then all he could feel would be cold. Cold, and empty. 

Then, he’d hate himself. He was above this. He knew Barry would be fine. Eobard didn’t need validation every ten minutes. If the timeline had changed, he’d know it by now. If—

_If the timeline had changed, he’d know it by now._

He let out a shaking breath. Of course. Of course. He should’ve remembered that the timeline moved retroactively; the minute he changed something it would appear different. If there had been something wrong with the accelerator explosion, he would’ve known the minute it happened. 

He was fine. The timeline was fine. Barry Allen would wake up at the end of the nine months and become the flash. He would disappear in 2024, and reappear again in 2420. He would be his. He would. 

Everything was going according to plan. 

* * *

 

Barry Allen awoke in February, when the air was so cold it hurt to breathe. The sky had been white, with snow dusting itself on every possible surface. Caitlin had taken to wearing scarves with every outfit, and even Cisco wore gloves everywhere he went.

They were playing something through the speakers, some pop song that Eobard vaguely recognized from somewhere. It had been eight months and three weeks since the accelerator exploded.

Barry Allen woke up like something out of a fairytale, with fluttering eyelashes and a muffled groan.

It sounded like heaven, for a moment. Or rather, Barry’s muffled “Wha…?” went unnoticed for a brief second, and Cisco’s “Oh my god, is he awake—”had Eobard stopping himself from jumping out of his chair. 

He went to him as fast as he could, anyway. 

Barry looked—Barry looked—Barry looked like something out of a dream, for a minute. Looked like everything he ever wanted, for a minute. He almost called out to him, almost ran to him, almost dragged him into his arms and kissed him then and there, but—

There was something different about him. 

“Oh my god, is that _Harrison Wells_?” Barry said suddenly, and the fake name tore him apart but not as much as the way he said it. He was alight with nerves, staring at him as if Eobard had hung the stars in the sky just because he felt like it. His shoulders were slumped over, but his eyes were alight. Eobard used to think that he would give anything to see Barry Allen look at him like that. Look at him as if he loved him, as if he was everything he wanted. 

But…Barry Allen was not Barry Thawne. He knew this. He knew that no love from him would be the same as what he wanted. Still, he had imagined that it would have been worth it, to see him want him, to see him love him again. He had imagined that the chance to pretend Barry was _Barry_ would have outweighed any qualms he had against it. He had imagined.

* * *

 

Barry Allen was not like Barry Thawne. It was more apparent now than it had ever been while he was asleep. While he was asleep, it was easier to imagine him as someone different, to imagine him as his. While he was asleep, he was pale and fair and ethereal, like something out of a fairytale.

(When Eobard had been young, his favorite bedtime story was one of a princess, locked away behind a forest of enchanted briars. She slept for a hundred years, eternally young and eternally beautiful, but all the world changed around her. Until one day, when a prince was strong enough to brave the thorns, did she wake from the curse. He kissed her, and the curse was broken. True love’s kiss could fix everything, in a fairytale.

Eobard hadn’t kissed Barry while he slept. He had known it wouldn’t work. The speed force wouldn’t let Barry wake until he was ready,no matter what pretty stories Eobard’s mother had told him. He hadn’t kissed him; Eobard had never been fond of breaking his own heart.)

This Barry was different; was living, was real. However, _living_ meant _not a memory,_ and _real_ meant _imperfect,_ and though he never would wish to be back to the time when Barry slept on a hospital bed in Star Labs, part of him wanted to believe it had been better then. He could pretend he was him. He could pretend, and then not have to realize, again and again and again, that he wasn’t. 

Of course, It wasn’t all bad. He didn’t have to worry about Barry never waking up, the future slipping straight through his hands. But—

“I can’t. I can’t, it’s not gonna work—” there were still problems.

  
“Yes, you can, Barry,” he said into the microphone. It was just phasing. Eobard had seen him do it a million times. “I believe in you, Barry.”

“No, Dr. Wells—”

He ignored the twinge in his gut. _Dr. Wells._ Not Eobard Thawne. “Barry. Barry, breathe with me. You can do this.” Of course he could do it. Of course he could. It was truer than anything else, truer than the quadratic formula and the unit circle and the pythagorean theorem: Barry Allen was the Flash. Barry Allen could phase through objects, through walls; if he tried hard enough, he could do anything. “Breathe. Feel the speed force, Barry. Feel how it moves. How everything, stationary or moving, is vibrating at it’s own frequency.”

“Doctor Wells, after the last time, I don’t really think—”

“Don’t think, Barry. _Run_.” He tensed for a minute, watching as he approached the speeding car. If he got it wrong, if Barry didn’t phase—well, he wouldn’t die. Probably. But he would be hurt. He would bleed.“You can do this. I believe in you.”

From the monitors, Barry relaxed visibly. Funny, how much praise affected him. Like he had never been complimented before in his life.

The car approached. So did Barry. and—

They collided.

No—not collided. Barry went through.

“I just—I just—” Barry whooped with joy. “Oh my god, I just _ran through a car.”_

Eobard smiled in spite of himself, letting out the breath he had been holding. “That you did. Congratulations, Mr. Allen.” He said. "Lets see if you can do it again, if you wouldn't mind running back to Star Labs."

Barry laughed, and the red blur on the camera turned toward Star Labs. And then—

He crashed straight into a wall.

Eobard winced, and took off his glasses. It was a bit to much to ask for mastery immediately, he supposed.

* * *

 

“Thanks again for staying this late, Dr. Wells.” Barry pressed an icepack against his bruised face, back in Star Labs. "For helping me learn how to phase, and everything else."

“Of course, Barry.” he cleared his throat. “Anything in the pursuit of science, after all.”

“It’s just—you didn’t have to stay, you know.” Barry said, shuffling his feet around. “I mean, Cisco and Caitlin went home. I could’ve, I dunno, practiced on my own.”

“It’s not a problem.” He didn’t meet his eyes. “It’s not like I was going to say no to—” Barry, his Barry, no wait, not his— “—the fastest man alive.”

“I…right. Yeah.” He bit at his lip, and scrunched his eyes closed. “I—nevermind. Thanks, Dr. Wells.”

“No problem,” he said, but Barry was tense again, visibly so, and that was no good. Barry needed to trust him. He wouldn’t get faster if he didn’t trust the solutions Eobard murmured into his ear; he couldn’t think as fast as his Barry was able to. He needed to be told, sometimes. Or rather, All of the time. He needed to get used to knowing what he was supposed to do next; whether that be because of Eobard’s voice in his ear or his own problem-solving. If Barry couldn’t do that, then he’d be less efficient. And Eobard was working on a very steep timetable. So, trust was tantamount. “Barry,” he said, grabbing his hand.“You did well today. I’m proud.”

His skin, as always, turned a soft shade of pink when he said that, and his muscles relaxed somewhat. Somewhat, but not entirely.

“I’m fairly certain you’re on your way to becoming exactly the sort of hero Central City needs.” Maybe that was laying it on a bit thick, but it definitely was true. Barry Allen was the Flash. And Central City would always need the Flash. No matter what. “The sort of hero we all need.” That, perhaps, was a bit too self indulgent, but it wasn’t a lie. Young Eobard Thawne had thought that exact same thing a million times over, back when he stayed up late reading _The Flash_ comic books. It wasn’t even wrong, either. Without the Flash—well, the world wasn’t worth thinking about. “I’m proud of you, Barry.” Proud wasn’t anywhere near the right word. It made him sound like a father figure, not his future husband. He was—he couldn’t describe it. Pride was just an undertone in a mess of emotions, half of which were on the verge of hysterics every time he saw him.

Barry trembled, too quick for ordinary humans to realize. “Thanks, Dr. Wells. I—just, thanks.”

Barry’s heart was beating fast, even for a speedster. Eobard could feel his pulse—ah. He was still holding onto his wrist. He let go, trying to forget how delicate his bones were. “Like I said, Mr. Allen. Not a problem.” He never was. Even now, even like this, he still never was.

Barry Allen stared back at him with dark, wide eyes. "Still. Thank you, Dr. Wells. I appreciate it."  



	6. Why Do Fools Fall in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Love is a losing game  
> And oft can be for shame  
> I know of a fool you see  
> For that fool is me!
>>
>>>  

September came in a swirl of golden leaves and crisp autumn air. 

It came with progress, too. “Gideon,” he said, appearing in the time vault. “Please note that the tachyon inhibitor has been acquired from Mercury Labs.”

“Of course, Professor Thawne.” 

It didn’t count as stealing if the company wasn’t supposed to have that sort of technologyfor at least fifty more years. 

* * *

As if it wasn’t hard enough hunting down Grodd, things went even further downhill. Someone was attacking Rathaway Industries, in broad daylight.

Once again, it all came down to Hartley. It was always him, in the end. Him or Barry.

He knew it was Hartley the minute he started. It fit him perfectly, after all; the dramatics of it all, the grandiose gestures of violence. (Still, he had to note, no one was actually hurt.) After all, only Hartley would destroy half of Rathaway Industries’s main buildings.

The only question was _why_.

Last he knew, Hartley was working at Mercury Labs without any problems. If Hartley was going to pull out the histrionics and attack his parent’s building, he would have done it after they disowned him, or maybe after Eobard fired him. A time where he felt low, like there was no way out. That was how super villains were made, after all. Eobard would know.

Hartley wouldn’t just attack Rathaway Industries after a year spent away from it. It didn’t make rational sense.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it now. “Alright Barry, here’s what you’re going to do.” He said into the microphone. “You’re going to come at him from behind. He shouldn’t be expecting you.” Or maybe he was. Hartley was prone to dramatics, yes, but to him, everything was chess. He was never the sort to do something without a plan. Never the sort to do anything without some way to avoid disaster.

The only time he’d do that would be if he was so low he didn’t care the outcome, anymore.

And if he was attacking his parent’s building, well. Maybe he was.

Barry approached the Rathaway building; Eobard glanced around the room. Cisco sat next to Caitlin, chewing on licorice. He didn’t know that it would be Hartley. Maybe he suspected, but he didn't know. (Cisco always liked to see the best in Hartley, after all. He never liked to believe how far he could fall.)

It was Hartley.

Cisco dropped his licorice. 

“Hello, Flash.” Hartley smiled. It was not a kind smile, nor a particularly flattering one. “I’ve been looking for you.” He sent up another sonic blast at his parents’ building, stronger than the others, and started running.

The building wobbled. Half of the glass had shattered. Eobard knew, immediately, what Hartley’s plan was. It was a good one, too. Forcing Barry to choose between following him or saving the civilians. 

(And with Barry Allen, was that ever really a choice?)

It was only after Barry had gone through the building that Eobard found out there was a startling lack of employees at Rathaway Industries that day.

Oh, Hartley.

“I’m sorry, but can we just point out that this is _Hartley Rathaway_ we’re following right now? The Hartley Rathaway who used to work here, that Hartley? You know. Dark Hair. Gets passive aggressive when upset. Doesn’t _blow down buildings,”_ Cisco said, staring at the screen. “I don’t care if there were like, two people inside because of some corporate fundraiser. That’s not—this isn’t Hartley. Hartley doesn’t just do that.”

“Cisco…” Caitlin said, biting her lip.

“You guysknow this guy?” Barry’s microphone crackled, and Eobard couldn’t think about Cisco and Hartley. Not when Barry needed him. 

“It doesn’t matter,” He said, typing rapidly. There he was. Hartley had turned off of tenth, and now ducked into an old brick building.“Barry, turn left. Again. He should be in the run down flour mill on sixth, you know the one?”

“Yeah, I know it,” Barry said, zipping through streets in seconds flat. “But who is this guy, and why does Cisco know him?”

Barry ran into the old mill with a flash of red light. “Barry, focus on the task at hand. He should be hiding somewhere—”

Barry ran. Straight into a—force field trap? Those shouldn’t have been available for at least twenty more years. Well, he always knew that Hartley was ahead of the curve. 

The forcefield had ruined the suit’s cameras and microphone systems, leaving the monitors showing nothing but static. Well, that wasn’t quite true. The forcefield had ruined all of the suit’s cameras and microphone systems _from this century._

There were, of course, cameras on Barry’s suit that definitely weren’t from this century. 

“No no no no no—” Cisco scrambled to get the systems back online. It wouldn’t work; the cameras themselves would’ve been destroyed, not just out of range. 

“I’ll go and see if I can reset the systems, shall I?” He said, already wheeling himself out of the door.

“Yeah, Dr. Wells, sure, whatever you can do.” Cisco replied, too distracted to even notice that he was heading in the opposite direction. 

After that, it was easy enough to run into the time vault, and to pull up the video feed with lightning fast fingers. 

“Hello again, Flash.” Hartley smirked. He looked paler than he had been when he still worked at Star Labs. “You really aren’t very bright, are you? Well, I suppose not many people are. Still, that begs the question: what does some idiot who can’t even see the most obvious trap, want with Mercury Labs tech?”

From the other side of the monitor, Eobard went still. _The tachyon devices._

Barry, of course, did not go still. _"What?"_

“Don’t play coy, it doesn’t suit you.” Hartley sneered. “Over the last three months, six of Mercury’s newest prototypes were stolen by someone who moves impossibly fast. Now unless there’s suddenly someone else who fits that description, _Flash,_ you’ve been making off with Mercury’s tech. Now, I’m asking _why.”_

Eobard’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it.

“Listen,I don’t know who stole your tech, but you've got the wrong guy, okay? In case you haven’t noticed, I stop robberies, not make them.”

_“_ Of course, of course, you’re the Flash. Central City’s _hero_.” He sneered again. “I’m not naive. Heroes don’t exist. No one does anything without a reason.” Oh, _Hartley_.

“Maybe my reason is for Central City to be better than it is.” Barry said, courageous and resplendent like this was some cheesy _The Flash_ movie from Eobard’s youth, where Barry convinced the villain to join the light side and save the city. “Did you ever think of that, Hartley? It is Hartley, right?”

Hartley flinched. Almost imperceptibly, but he flinched. “You know my name. That’s alright. I know some names too, _Barry Allen._ ”

Hartley, Hartley, Hartley. Too perceptive for his own good. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Barry was an awful liar.

“Really? I have some other names, too. Caitlin Snow, Cisco Ramon, Harrison Wells. I’m certain that CCPD would love to find out that they’ve been aiding and abetting a known vigilante. And I’m definitely sure they’d love to know who that vigilante is.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“It wasn’t even hard, figuring out your identity. All I had to do was extrapolate a beginning and end position every time you left a crime scene. And, of course, lo and behold, where do you come from but none other than Star Labs.” He laughed. It was a bitter thing. “Obviously you’re too tall to be Cisco, and if you were Harrison, I’d know. That leaves, of course, none other than the coma patient that they had been taking care of six months ago: Barry Allen.”

Eobard’s phone buzzed. He sighed, and checked it. It was Cisco. _Apparently Grodd’s terrorizing the city again, as if things couldn’t get any worse._ Unimportant.

“Listen, I don’t know who you’re talking about—”

“Stop lying to me, Flash.”

“Just let me out of here, okay? Let me out of here, and we can talk this out.”

His phone buzzed again. Cisco. _He’s heading in Barry’s direction._ Slightly more important; if Barry didn’t get out of the force field, he would be powerless against him. 

“And let you get away? I don’t think so.”

Cisco texted him again. _I think he might be going after Barry._ That was important.

A crash sounded on the other side of the camera. Sirens rang in the distance. “Listen, you have to let me out of here. It’s important, alright? Just let me out of here—”

“Not happening.” Hartley frowned. “Did you honestly think that if you just asked me to let you out, that I would? How naive can you get.”

“I’m not joking, alright? If you don’t let me out of here, you’ll get yourself killed!”

“You really need to up your begging game, Flash. I’m certain Harrison must expect better from you.”

“ _What_? Dr. Wells and I aren’t—you know what, it doesn’t even matter, just let me out of here—”

The door opened with a bang. “Is that a _gorilla_?” Hartley’s jaw dropped.

“ _Flash_.” Grodd roared.

“A talking gorilla.” Hartley looked like he might faint.

Grodd began to charge, and—oh, no, that was not option.

Eobard Thawne ran to Barry Allen in a yellow suit and super speed. Barry Allen was not allowed to be harmed. Especially not permanently.

He arrived at the old mill in a yellow blur, framed in lightning. He could tell when Barry saw him, not because of the way he moved, almost instinctively towards him, but instead by his sharp gasp of breath. Did he remember him, he wondered, as the same man who killed his mother? Or could he tell, by some sort of remnant in the speedforce, that he would belong to him? 

He shook his head, refocused. Grodd was rampaging, Barry was still trapped in the forcefield while Hartley tried to frantically let him out. Grodd was rampaging _towards them._ No, that couldn’t be allowed.

He ran in a flash of yellow, knocking Hartley out of the way and hitting the mechanism to release the forcefield. “What the hell?” Hartley stared from where he was sprawled on the floor, readjusting his glasses like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

“You,” Barry murmured, like he was in shock. Under any other circumstances, that would be immensely flattering. At the moment, it was more of a hassle than anything else.

“Get out of here, Flash,” he said, but it was more like a growl with his voice vibrating.

It took a second, but Barry snapped out of his daze. “What are you doing—”

“Get out, Flash.” he said, and he picked Hartley up over his shoulder with a squawk of complaint. Then, of course, he was gone, leaving the dazed Flash behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys!! sorry this took so long. I know I try to keep it within two weeks and this is...definitely not two weeks, but I hope you all will forgive me <3  
> Anyway hope you all like it!!! :)


	7. Moon River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> >   
>  Oh dream maker  
> you heart breaker  
> wherever you're going, I'm going your way. 
>> 
>>  
>> 
>> We're after the same rainbow's end  
> waiting 'round the bend  
> my huckleberry friend  
> Moon river and me.
>>
>>>  

He had Hartley in the time vault. For practicality’s sake, of course. To defeat Grodd, Hartley’s mind and sound wave technology would be immeasurably helpful. 

Of course, it was not all for practicality’s sake.

(He had never been called a sentimental man, before he met Barry Allen.)

“What do you want with me.” Hartley frowned, trying to hide the way his voice shook. Oh, Hartley. “If you want money, my parents won’t give you any.”

“I’m not here for your parents’ money, Mr. Rathaway. All I need is your help on a particular project of mine.”

“And then you’ll let me go?” He was still guarded, but his voice no longer shook audibly. He didn’t trust him, then, but this was as good as it would get.

“And then I’ll let you go.”

He nodded jerkily, but he didn’t make eye contact. “What do you want me to make.”

“A sort of sound wave canon which disarms and disorients enemies.” The future Pied Piper had a weapon similar to it, Hartley should have no problem with it. “Without killing them,” he added, because the weapon was for Barry, and Barry would never approve of killing. That much, at least, was an irrefutable fact. No matter when it was in the timeline. “There are tools in here for you to use.” He opened a drawer. 

“You…color code your screwdrivers.”

That was an odd detail to fixate on, but Hartley was probably in shock.Color coding screwdrivers was not that strange of a habit. 

“ _Dr. Wells?”_ Hartley stared at him, scandalized.

Perhaps color coding screwdrivers wasn’t that common of a habit after all. “Dr. Wells? Don’t be ridiculous, Mr. Rathaway.”

“Harrison, if nothing else, respect my intellect,” he said scathingly. “I’m not an idiot, and you’d have to be one to think that I was.”

Hartley always did work best with insults and logic. He couldn’t argue with him. He already knew. But if he gave in, if he let Hartley know what he could do, who he was—that was dangerous knowledge.

Knowledge which he already knew. Admitting, then, would just be not making a fool out of either of them. Resistance was futile. 

He tugged his cowl off. “Hello, Hartley.”

“It was you. After all this time, it was you.” He laughed, breathy and almost manic. “You who stole Mercury Labs’ prototypes. You, who stole my _prototype_. You, who I thought was the Flash. You, who I’ve been chasing down for months on end—It was all you?”

“Yes.” There was no use lying.

He ran a hand down his face, and pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Why.”

He didn’t answer. That, after all, was too much information. Hartley already knew too much. Telling him more would be—disastrous. 

“Did you hear me, Harrison? _Why_?” He wasn’t quite at a a snarl, but there was pent up rage behind his voice. His hands had started shaking again, but from anger instead of fear. “Why steal my prototypes? Star Labs wasn’t incapable of making its own, even with only Caitlin and Cisco. In this room alone, there’s tech way more advanced than anything you took. So why did you take them, Harrison? What did you need it for?”

Silence.

He bit his lip, the way he always did when he was frustrated. “Why build the accelerator if you knew it was going to explode? I was right, the day you threw me out. I was right. And you built it anyway. You blew it up, anyway. You _wanted_ it to explode, even knowing the dangers it could cause—”

“The accelerator had to blow up, Hartley,” He cut in before he could stop himself. “It had to—”

“What is that supposed to mean, Harrison? How are you supposed to know whether or not it blows up? You always were a bit too fond of playing God, Dr. Wells, but you have no right to say it needed to blow up.” He ground his teeth. “People died, Harrison. People _died_. And you don’t even care at all what you did—” He slammed his hand down. Straight onto Gideon’s console.

No. No no no no no—

The image of a newspaper flickered onto the wall behind him. A mechanical voice said: “Welcome, Professor Thawne.” 

Hartley Rathaway stared at the newspaper, then slowly turned to stare at him. “Professor?  _Thawne_?” He looked at him, nose scrunched back anger. “What is this, Wells.” It was hardly even a question.

Eobbard sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oh, Hartley.” What could be done? There was no use denying it, and he couldn’t just let him go. Hartley knew too much as it was, without bringing in his real name. He had to kill him.

He had to. 

His hand started vibrating at his side, and he stared up into his eyes. Hartley was afraid. He wasn’t very good at hiding it, either, not to him. But he stared at him anyway, unflinching. 

Eobard couldn’t kill him. He dropped his hand, let it stop vibrating. He stared up at him with cold, tired eyes, and said, “That’s from my wedding day. In 2430.”

“…2430.”Hartley repeated blankly. 

He was probably still staring at him. Eobard wasn’t quite sure; he was too busy staring at the picture of his husband. Barry smiled down at him. The photo was still there, even after telling Hartley. The future was still intact.

“Your name isn’t Harrison Wells, is it,” Hartley said, out of all the things he could have said. Not, _how is time travel possible,_ or, _why are you still here._ Simply: _your name isn’t Harrison Wells, is it._

For a minute, he almost denied it. Not because he wanted to, but because he and beenlying for so long. To give in finally, to say the words, _my name is Eobard Thawne,_ suddenly felt unspeakable. He had been lying every day for fifteen years. He had been fighting himself to not say it, so when he finally could it felt unspeakable. Every inch of his body told him not to. A thousand alarms rang in the back of his mind, reminding him: _He can’t know. No one can know. Barry is waiting for you. He’s waiting for you, and you need to make it back to him._ “No,” he said, breathless, and—oh. He was smiling. “No,” He said again, and his voice was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob. Something hysterical rose from within him, an energy that made him both restless and bone tired all at once. “My name is not Harrison Wells.” Oh, how good that felt to say. To no longer hide behind a dead man. To be himself, again.

“Thawne?” Hartley said, “and that man up there, he’s Barry Allen?”

“Barry Thawne,” he corrected before he could stop himself. “His name is Barry Thawne. My husband,” he said. “You’re taking this strangely well.”

“I know a bit about keeping secrets,” he said. “I know what it sounds like, when you finally admit them, after years of saying nothing.” 

Oh, Hartley. 

“Barry—Thawne. That sounds familiar. He wouldn’t happen to be—”

“The Flash?” Hartley already knew all of his secrets, what was one more? “Yes.” 

“But this Flash—”

“Still believes I’m Harrison Wells, yes.”

All was silent. Then, “That’s terrible.”

He laughed, but it was bitter and closer to a sigh.“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it is.”

Hartley looked at him then, with an expression that Eobard couldn’t make out. Then, some time later, his voice almost shaking, he asked. “Did—did Cisco know about this?” He swallowed. “Did he know the accelerator would explode?”

“What? No.” He said, and suddenly he knew where this was going. “He knew nothing, Hartley. I protected him from this. Just as I tried to protect you.”

“You didn’t protect me—” he began, seemingly more out of reflex than anything else. He trailed off.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Hartley. Never.” He said, and for a second, he was surprised that it was true. There was a time in his life when there was no one he cared about but Barry Allen. There was a time in his life when all the rest of the world could have burned, for all he cared. But. Barry changed him. Like he always did. (He made him better. They made each other better.)

Hartley was shaking, now. Visibly. “Why did you, then? Why?”

“The accelerator had to explode, Hartley. It had to. If it didn’t—well. Everything I loved would be gone.” Barry, Barry, Barry. 

“Why wouldit have to explode? That’s ridiculous. There’s probably a million other ways —a million safer ways—that you could have done what you did without putting an entire city in danger. Without putting everyone we knew in danger.”

“Hartley—”

“And—protecting me? Protecting Cisco? That’s pretty hard to believe when you were putting the both of us within the blast range of what could have potentially been a nuclear bomb—”

He was babbling now, Eobard could tell. Barry used to do the same thing when he got nervous, or upset. _I knew you would be fine, Hartley,_ he could have said, but that was a lie, and they both knew it was. “I had to, Hartley,” he said instead, which was the truth.

“Sure you had to, Harrison,” he sneered. “Or Eobard, or whatever it is,” he said. “Who did know, then, if it wasn’t Cisco.”

“Nobody knew, Hartley.”

“There has to be someone. Was it Caitlin?”

“No, Hartley.” He sighed. “It was me. No one else.”

“Ronnie? No, I suppose that wouldn’t make sense. He wouldn’t be that close to the blast, if he knew it would go off.”

“Hartley, I didn’t tell anyone.”

“What, because you were _protecting_ them? I’m not actually that naive. What would you even be protecting us from?”

“I didn’t want you to have to make that kind of decision, Hartley.” Of course he didn’t, if he chose wrong it would be disastrous. That couldn’t be allowed. But also—he found he didn’t want to put him in that position. The sort of position where he had to choose between attachment and morality.

“You never cared about what sort of decisions I made, Harrison. Not if they didn’t affect you directly. Not if they didn’t affect the accelerator.” Resentment. Anger. The chosen one, unnoticed—Eobard knew how to deal with this Hartley.

“Of course I cared, Hartley. Of course I did. Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, because _we’re too alike, Hartley,_ was too much of a non sequitur. They were too alike, though. Hartley and him—well. It hadn’t been so long ago since he was the same as him; broken and aching and betrayed.

“Even if all this is true, _Professor Thawne,_ I doubt you ever cared about anything other than getting home to your husband.” 

He couldn’t deny that. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t be the same, Hartley. You would be, too, if the right person was on the line,” he said, deliberately. “If Cisco was on the line.”

“Cisco has nothing to do with this.” Hartley was better at lying than Barry was, but Eobard knew all of his tells; his jaw clenched ever so slightly, he spoke a little too quick. 

“Cisco has everything to do with this.”

“This is between you and me, don’t bring him into this,” he said, a bit too quick again. 

Oh. “Hartley, not thinking about him won’t make him go away,” he said, with a strained smile that was closer to bitter than it was sweet. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“You know nothing,” he spat. He was shaking, now. “You don’t know—”

“Don’t know that you probably still can’t believe that he would care for you? I know.”

“—the _betrayal_.” he hissed. “How I was certain for months on end that the knew it was going to happen, that that was why you hired him.

“Hartley Rathaway. Does that sound one iota like something Cisco Ramon would do? Please.”

“He’s always been more loyal to you rather than me.” Lies, covering up _I didn’t trust anything, anymore,_ and _I certainly didn’t trust people who I thought had cared._

“You’d be surprised.” He smiled. For someone of his calibre, Hartley was so blind. But men like them always were.

“He—he didn’t know.” Hartley ran a hand through his hair, which was lank and lackluster. Oh, Hartley.

“No.” He said, because there wasn’t anything else to say. “I didn’t want to hurt you, Hartley. Any of you.”

“You didn’t do a very good job of it,” he said, but the anger was gone. He slumped against a wall, exhausted. “You really didn’t.”

“I know.” He sighed, ran his hands down his face. “I know.”

When he looked up, Hartley was staring at him with a dull sort of realization on his face: Eobard was human.Not an idol, not a marble statue on a pedestal, but human. Eobard wasn’t quite sure if Hartley had ever looked at him like that before. 

“I want to hate you,” Hartley said, tired and disillusioned and this close to falling apart. “But I can’t.” He laughed, but it was closer to a sob than a laugh. “I can’t.You know I’d have done the same thing.” He sighed, ruffled his hair again, slumped further down the wall. “Why did you make me so much like you?”

“How else am I supposed to raise my son?” And—oh. the answer had come before he could even think about it, but it was true. He had never wanted children before, not really. Too messy, too demanding, too much to handle. But Hartley Rathaway? Hartley was possibly the closest to a son that he’d ever had,that he ever would have.

“I—fuck,” he swore, rubbing at his eyes. His lower lip was quivering, he looked like a mess.

“Oh, Hartley.” He sighed, and before he knew it, he had pulled Hartley against him, and was letting him sob on his shoulder. He pressed his face into Hartley’s hair. He did not cry. (He did.)

* * *

Then, when Hartley’s sobs had mostly subsided, Gideon interrupted them. “Professor Thawne? I’m terribly sorry, but there appears to be activity in section three that you should know about.”

He sighed, and pulled away from Hartley. “Show me the cortex, Gideon.”

Cisco appeared on the screen. “It’s not that hard of a question! Did he look like he’s been eating?”

“I don’t even know who he is!” Barry protested. “I mean, I guess? He wasn’t dead?”

“You are literally no help at all. None. Most unhelpful person in the country award goes to you, Barry Allen,” Cisco grumbled, typing something in furiously in his computer.

“This is the fifth time he has unsuccessfully attempted to triangulate Mr. Rathaway’s location,” Gideon chimed in.

“He—he’s been looking for me?” Hartley’s breath caught in his throat.

“Go to him,” Eobard said immediately, despite how Hartley knew too much, despite how Eobard knew that he shouldn’t trust anyone. 

Someone, after all, deserved to have a happy ending. “What? Are you—are you serious?”

“Go, Hartley,” he repeated. “Though I doubt I have to tell you—if you tell anyone what I told you here—”

“—I’ll wish I was teaching physics to high school juniors. I know,” Hartley said, but it was more of an afterthought. He was running, already, out the door. “Don’t think you’re getting out of a better explanation, when I get back.” He called behind him.

Eobard smiled, and followed him in his wheelchair.

 

* * *

 

“Come on, Barry, think! Did he say anything that might say where he was taking him?” Cisco’s voice echoed into the hallway. Suddenly, Hartley stilled.

“All he said was _get out of here, Flash,”_ Barry protested, mimicking the vibrations of the Reverse Flash’s voice. 

Cisco grumbled in frustration, typing something else in. Hartley inched closer to the open archway.“Why’d he even want you to get out of there, anyway. Doesn’t he want you dead?”

“I don’t know,” Barry said, an inscrutable expression passing over his face. “I don’t know.”

“Why’d he take Hartley, either? I thought this guy was only obsessed with you.”

“Maybe they are working together?” Caitlin mentioned.

“Come on. Hartley? Team up with pure evil? Just because you thought he was a dick, Caitlin, doesn’t mean that he’s literally Satan!” He frowned. “He’s been kidnapped, Cait, and I want to find him.” 

“Who even is this Hartley Rathaway, anyway?” Barry groaned.

“That’d be me,” Hartley said suddenly, and oh, he shared Eobard’s penchant for the dramatic, too. But behind that false bravado, he was shaking, and his eyes held an uncertainty, even as he stepped forward. Even now, he still didn’t believe he could be loved.

But Cisco—Cisco stared up at Hartley like he put the stars in the sky. Like he’d give anything just to stand beside him. Hartley—Hartley stared at the ground. He didn’t look up. Like if he did, it might all be gone, it might turn into a dream.

Oh, Hartley.

“I, ah,” Hartley began, wringing his hands together. His eyes flickered upwards, met Cisco’s. Then—it was almost like a fairytale, in a way. They ran towards each other, like nothing else mattered at all, like there was nowhere else they belonged but with each other. They may not have been speedsters, but in the time it took for them to close the gap between them, it almost seemed like it.

Caitlin had tugged Barry out of the room. Eobard would move, in a minute, they deserved their privacy, but—for a second, he allowed himself to fantasize. If Barry appeared here, he would do the same thing. When he got home to Barry, he would do the same thing. They would run at each other like it was a dream or an overdramatic romcom, they would connect in the middle, and Eobard would turn to putty in Barry’s arms just as Hartley did in Cisco’s.

_Soon_ , he told himself, as Cisco gathered up Hartley in his arms and Hartley tangled his fingers in Cisco’s hair, soon he’d be with Barry again. Soon, he’d get his own heartfelt reunion, with metaphorical violins playing in the background. _Soon, soon, soon,_ he reminded himself, but he had been telling himself that for a very long time.

Eobard Thawne turned around and left them to their romance, and ignored how his reassurances no longer rang true.

 


	8. Somewhere Beyond the Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > Somewhere beyond the sea  
> She's there watching for me  
> If I could fly like birds on high  
> Then straight to her arms  
> I'd go sailing
>>
>>>  

_2436_

Barry Thawne was a good man. A nice man, even. Could never hurt a fly, or so everyone said. 

He wasn’t feeling particularly nice, in this particular moment.

The villain had been captured, the day had been saved, all was well—except. His husband was gone. Eobard was gone. Missing only—thank god. Clark and Hal and the others reappeared moments after they had disappeared; a little worse for wear, but physically fine. The Blight’s powers didn’t kill, at least.

It had been a day. Eobard still hadn’t reappeared. Barry was alone. (He was never good at being alone.)

The girl who called herself the Blight stared at him with tired violet eyes and a smile that was more pain than it was smile. “I knew you’d come here eventually,” she said, staring at him like she could look straight through him. 

“What did you do with him.” It was not a question. “Where is my husband.”

“You know what my powers do already, don’t you. Your friends told you.” She looked strangely tired. Her eyes flickered towards him, took in, probably, the rumpled clothes, the sleepless eyes. “Or maybe you don’t? Some people don’t like to talk about it.”

“What do you do.” He swallowed, thinking of vortices and pain and Eobard lost in an abyss or an alternate universe. “What did you do to him?”

She smiled, a humorless thing. “I see the worst day of your life. And I send you back there. Powerless. And then you watch.”

“ _Why_ —why would you do that?” He choked, and he tried not to think. Tried not think of his husband, watching as a younger Barry broke his heart; tried not to think of them fighting, of the way hits from Eobard used to hurt more than hits from anyone else.

“Do you think that I asked for this?” She hissed. In any other circumstance, he would pity her. He’d tell her that there were people who could teach her, people who could help her. He’d tell her that she didn’t have to be a villain.

This was not like any other circumstance. “Everyone else came back. Why hasn’t he?”

“Your husband.” She tasted the word, staring him straight in the face. “That’d be the one in the yellow suit, wouldn’t it. Who saved you, like a knight in shining armor?” She laughed bitterly. “I lost him.”

His heart stopped. “You did what.”

“Time is—fluid. I can push a person through, but I can’t always find them again.”

“You lost him?” Rage built up inside of him, hiding an underlying panic that ran through every limb. “You lost him, and now he’s stuck god knows where, after reliving the worst day of his life—”

“I think you’re done here, Flash,” she said, retreating back to the furthest corner of her cell. 

“Come back here, this isn’t over.” His hands started to shake. His eyes were going yellow from electricity. He reached toward the wall of her cell—then stopped himself. What was he planning on doing, even? Hurting her wouldn’t make things better. “When did you send him,” he shouted instead, grabbing onto the bars of her cell. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

* * *

 

“She sent him to the worst day of his life.”

“Yeah.” Barry tensed. His coffee mug rattled against the saucer. His grip was white-knuckled.

“Wow…” Cisco whistled. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

“I mean, how’s that even possible? Honestly, that shouldn’t be possible. Metahumans, man, I’m telling you.”

“Says the guy who can see into alternate timelines.” Barry snorted.

Cisco laughed, then sobered. “How are you holding up?”

“How does it look like I’m holding up, Cisco.”

He grimaced. “That bad? I had hoped, maybe, that it was one of those looks-worse-than-it-is kind of things.”

Barry rolled his eyes, grinning. At least he could always trust Cisco to cheer him up. To make him feel human again. “Well, it’s not,” he said. “Cisco, I need to find him.”

“Barry, I don’t think I could handle searching all the universes for when your husband showed up,” Cisco said, staring at him cautiously. “I might literally combust. I want Eo back as much as the next guy, you know that, but—”

“What? No, Cisco, I couldn’t ask that from you.” Barry shook his head. “I need—I need to figure out when she sent him to.”

“You mean, you need to figure out what the worst day of his life was?” He whistled. “Damn, Barry, I don’t know if I can help you.”

“Cisco, please, I—you’re the only one who has known him as long as I have, you know that?”

“The only one who doesn’t still glare daggers at him and think he’s a mass murderer even after he joined the League, you mean.” He rolled his eyes, but not without affection.

“He was never a mass murderer!” Barry protested before he could stop himself. “Sorry.”

“No worries. I mean, you know how I get about Hart, and all.” Cisco shrugged. “So. You need my help in figuring out which day in the train wreck of your relationship was the worst day of his life.”

“Our relationship is _not_ a trainwreck.”

“The beginning of it was.” Cisco raised an eyebrow, as if daring him to respond otherwise. “I mean, seriously. What part of ‘make him think his childhood hero hates him’ was a good idea to you?”

“I wanted him to get to know me, alright? I wanted him to know Barry Allen, not the Flash.” He crossed his arms, and refused to look Cisco in the eye. “And we don’t even know the worst day of his life involves me, anyway.”

Cisco stared at him. “Dude. The guy’s life practically revolves around you. Even when you didn’t exist in the same century, he fanboyed over you, big time. On your first date, he took you to see a Flash film. Then you figured out that he was like, president of your fan club, and you made him think that the Flash hated him, so he became the Reverse Flash. And then when you figured out he was the Reverse Flash, he literally _went back in time_ and fought with you, just so he could be around you more. Trust me, Barry, it involves you.” He sighed. “Now we just have to find out when you fucked up the most _.”_

Barry thought about protesting; Eobard had fucked up too, of course; he had done worse than Barry had ever done, but what was the point of arguing? They both knew what Eobard had done, and it was all in the past. It wouldn’t help Barry get his husband back. So he ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and said: “easier said than done.”

They had work to do.


	9. Be My Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > I'll make you happy, baby, just wait and see  
> For every kiss you give me I'll give you three  
> Oh, since the day I saw you  
> I have been waiting for you  
> You know I will adore you 'til eternity
>>
>>> _2016_

Time went by, as it always did. September changed to October which then faded into November. The air grew colder and colder until there was a chill that was impossible to shake. Barry, of course, said that it wasn’t that bad, but Barry always had a warmer heart. In every sense of the word. 

The Reverse Flash made his appearances, flashes of yellow against the gray of the dead grass and November skies. It was necessary for him to show up, to taunt and tease at Barry—Barry needed to get faster, after all, and they were never faster than when they were together. They were never better than when they were together. 

He had known, of course, that the more the Reverse Flash showed up, the more dangerous it would be for him. Barry would grow more suspicious. Everyone would grow more suspicious, and Joe West had never shared his adopted son’s warm heart. Had the future not seemed so grim, Eobard would have thanked his lucky stars that Joe West had been centuries away before Eobard became his son-in-law. Unfortunately, the future was this grim.

Honestly, Eobard should have seen this coming. He should have planned for it, should have prepared, should have known that he had described things the way only a speedster would describe things, should have remembered that any other person wouldn’t be able to explain the feeling of lightning in their veins. 

It happened so slowly, the methodical untangling of all of his best-laid plans. Well—slowly, and then all at once. When Barry found out, it would happen immeasurably quickly; he wouldn’t be able to stand being in the same space as the person who killed his mother. 

He still had time before that happened, but it was only a matter of time before it did. He should have seen it earlier. He had thought that he knew what he was doing. But no—they knew he was the Reverse Flash. They just couldn’t prove it yet. Hartley, of course, tried his best to keep their suspicions down, and it worked, for some time. But they didn’t know Hartley, not really, and other than Cisco, they didn’t trust Hartley, either. And even Cisco— _his_ Cisco—seemed to distrust Eobard, too, despite everything Hartley did.

It was a little like watching a natural disaster unfold. Everything he had worked for in fifteen years, slowly stripped away. Empires turned to ashes every time Cisco looked at him strange, or Joe stared him with barely hidden hostility. 

Everything was falling apart. Everything. Yet through it all, Barry grew faster and faster and more beautiful, even as he grew suspicious. Even as Eobard clung to future that seemed impossible. Even when he knew that future would eventually disappear, if Barry ever gave up believing in him. If Barry truly ended up knowing that he killed Nora Allen. 

So, he smiled at Barry in the cortex, and tried to pretend that everything he loved couldn’t disappear in a single moment. (In his head, he attempted to calculate three different ways he could salvage the situation. He came up with one: Barry didn’t know his real name. When he met Eobard Thawne in the future, he could still love him. If he did figure out his name, though—if Barry found out who he was—panic rose in his chest, wild and crazed. He swallowed it down, and continued his day.)

* * *

Barry was never able to deny the facts when they were presented to him, not even if he wanted to. He was a scientist, after all, and that meant believing in the truth, even if it denied everything he knew. Eobard would know.

So, eventually, they confronted Eobard. Well— _confronted_ was not the proper word. It was more of a blindside. They had lured him into a false sense of security, him and Hartley both. Eobard still knew they were suspicious, he wasn’t blind, but—

He hadn’t thought that they’d be this quick about it. Foolish of him, but that was the occupational hazard, when someone had a speedster’s lifespan and had been waiting for fifteen years. 

But just because he wasn’t expecting it didn’t mean that he was shocked into submission. So—he ran. 

He ran, and in a way, it felt like he ran faster than he had ever run before. That wasn’t true, of course. Though his connection to the speed force had steadied, there was still the constantfear that it would leave him unexpectedly, and he still wasn’t as fast as he used to be. He was nowhere near as fast as he was, when he was with his Barry.

Still, he was faster than he had been in a decade and a half, and faster than this Barry Allen, too. For the first time in what felt like forever, there was lightning in his veins, wind in his hair. Barry was chasing after him, but that didn’t matter. None of it mattered. What did matter was the ground beneath his feet, the speed force thrumming underneath his skin. Everything else lost its meaning. there was nothing but peace. 

So, he ran. He ran, and he planned. Perhaps—perhaps all was not lost. He had meant for the Reverse Flash to incite Barry into time traveling, and then he had planned to just follow him through. He could still do that, even with Barry knowing that it was “Harrison Wells” underneath his mask. Barry wasn’t fast enough to time travel on his own, not more than a day or a couple of hours, not enough to make a portal, but with the help of the particle accelerator, perhaps he could.

First things first, though; he had to outrun the Flash.

* * *

 

Things did not go to plan. He had to credit Cisco, he really was a genius. Eobard fell into his trap like he was twenty-five again, bitter and angry at the Flash, more playing at a super villain than being one. Occupational hazard, he supposed, when he spent more time in the Justice League than villainy.

So now he was here. Stuck in the pipeline, staring at Barry Allen like he was Frankenstein and Barry his monster. 

“Why did you do it?” It was hardly even a question. Barry’s voice shook with emotion, with anger and bitterness and pain.“Why did you kill her?” He didn’t look like Eobard’s Barry Allen, like this. He didn’t even look like Barry Thawne. He looked, instead, like the Flash when Eobard first met him: vengeful, untouchable, and hurt.

“It doesn’t matter,” Eobard told him, because he couldn’t tell him the truth, but he could never lie. Not to him. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Bullshit.” He pounded on the glass. He looked seconds away from crying, from screaming, from opening the door and fighting with him.“You—you _killed_ my _mother._ You don’t just get to decide that it doesn’t matter anymore!” 

Eobard sighed, ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t look at Barry—he didn’t look at _the Flash._ “Give up, Barry,” he said. “You’ve already won this fight.”

“No— _no—_ you can’t just end it there. You killed my mother.”

“Barry.” He didn't try to tell him _it was a long time ago, for me._ He didn’t try to tell him, _I’m sorry._ He couldn’t. Barry couldn’t know anything about him. Not if he wanted to get home.

So: he disengaged. Let himself fantasize, as he tried to turn this Barry into his. If he’d been home, Barry’d be smiling, not shouting. He’d call him Eo, and he’d kiss him.

“You’re not even listening to me.” His voice was cold. He looked so nice under this lighting. “You’re not even—wow. Okay. Fine.”

Then he was gone.

No—that couldn’t be allowed. “Barry! Wait!” He straightened. “What if your mother didn’t have to die?”

* * *

 

It was some time before he was visited again. This time, however, it was with considerable more people. The entire team flash stood before him, accusingly. His judge, jury, and executioner, Eobard supposed.

“Give us one reason why we should trust you.” Cisco said, flatly. Surprisingly cold, from him. Eobard wasn’t even particularly sure why he seemed so betrayed. This couldn’t just be about Barry. It was too personal. 

_Have I ever led you astray before?_ He almost asked it. He knew better than to do so, though. He knew it wouldn’t be appreciated. “I only want one thing, Cisco. And that’s to go back home.”To Barry. 

“Right. Yeah. ‘Marty, we have to go back!’ I know.” Cisco squinted. “Just because you’re a time traveler doesn’t mean that we trust you. What’s your name, anyway, if it isn’t Harrison Wells?” His tone was light but this wasn’t lighthearted. His jaw clenched, his hands were shaking at his sides. 

Eobard smiled. He didn’t quite mean it. “Not telling.”

“How are we supposed to trust you with Barry’s life if you won’t even tell us your name? How are we supposed to trust you at all?” Joe West glared at him, as always.

“It’s not just Barry’s life that’s hanging in the balance. Mine is, as well.” He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “Tell me, Detective, do I look like the sort of man who would gamble with his own life?” Once upon a time, he might have gladly died if he meant it took the Flash down with him. But that was a very long time ago.

“I think you’re the sort of man who would gamble anything, if it meant getting what you wanted.” Joe frowned. “Which in this case, is Barry _dead_ , so excuse me for having some trust issues.”

“If I wanted Barry dead, he would be dead by now.” Eobard stared at them, unflinching. “It’s not like I haven’t had the chance—”

“But you needed Barry alive,” Cisco said. “You need him alive, because you’re a speedster from the future, and without Barry being the flash, there would have been no way for you to become the man in yellow.”

Cisco. Always too smart for his own good. Or maybe he just watched _Back To the Future_ one too many times. 

“But you don’t need him alive, anymore, now that he’s the Flash,” Joe West said, and Eobard was hit with the curious sensation of being looked down on, even though they were, for once, the same height. “So you can murder him and run away to the future without even batting an eyelash.”

“I’m not going to kill him,” he said, even though he knew it was useless. He was the boy who cried wolf: lie too many times and the truth was worthless.

“Sure you don’t. That’s exactly why you apparently _traveled in time_ so that you could kill him.”

No, there was no reasoning this one out. Not with Joe West. “I have to admit, I am curious how you figured out that detail,” he said instead, turning his eyes to Cisco. There was no use lying.

“Simple. The blood.” He hadn’t expected Iris West to speak. He hazarded a glance at her; she and her father shared a number of attributes. The most notable being that they both had the uncanny ability to make someone rethink their life choices with only a look. 

“The blood from the crime scene of Nora Allen’s murder had some peculiarities in it.” Caitlin said, almost begrudgingly. “The first being that it had immense regenerative properties, just like Barry, and the second being that it had some strange mutations—”

“—And the third being that it they had residue from tachyon particles,” Cisco said, still looking at him as if he personally killed all the puppies in the world. “Meaning: you’re a time traveler.”

He tilted his head in acquiescence. There was no point in lying, he told himself. As far as they knew, he could be from anywhere. When Barry appeared in 2430 after disappearing in 2024, he would have no idea that Eobard Thawne would be the man who killed his mother. The timeline would stay intact.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Barry said finally, though quietly and not meeting his eyes. “Give me one good reason why I should trust you.” 

If it had been up to Barry, and only Barry, Eobard knew that this conversation wouldn’t even be happening. Barry would take any chance to save his mother. No matter what the consequences were. “Barry. Listen to me. You know I have never lied to you.” Not directly, never directly.

“Like hell you never lied to him! You told him you were a different person! Everything you did was lying to him,” Joe West shouted, and stepped closer to the glass.“How can you not even realize what you did—”

_“Eo,”_ he thought he could hear Barry say. There was no need for the voice of his husband now, he told his conscience. He knew exactly what he had done. He knew exactly how it could hurt. That didn’t mean that he would change it, if he could. It didn’t matter. It wouldn’t matter, when he got home. None of it would matter. 

“—how can you not even realize what you did to him,” Detective West shouted, his hands shaking. “Open the door, Cisco.” 

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Joe, you need to calm down—”

“If you open the door he’ll just escape—”

“No he wouldn’t, Cisco put up that speed trap, remember—”

“Cisco, open the door.” Except, this time, it wasn’t Joe West’s voice. 

Slowly, deliberately, Eobard turned his head to see the newcomer. It was Barry. But—this Barry was in his Flash outfit. The one that had the white circle around the lightning bolt, not the red. The one that wouldn’t be invented yet for a few years. Not only that—

There was another Barry in front of him, clad in black sweater and jeans. 

He blinked. The Barry was still there. 

“Holy Harry Potter,” Cisco mumbled to his right, starstruck. “Who the hell are you?”

“Cisco,” the new Barry repeated. “Open the door.” 

Eobard’s heartbeat slowed. Or maybe it sped up so fast, he couldn’t feel it anymore. _Barry._ Was this another dream? A hallucination, perhaps? He had those, more often then he liked to admit. He blinked again, slowly, deliberately, so that the dream might end before he got his hopes up too far. He opened his eyes: he was still there. He was still there, beautiful and lovely and too good for this to be anything but a dream, but—damn it. If this was a dream, he hoped it never ended. Let him die in his sleep, for all he cared. 

He stared at him, took in the windswept hair—he always did like to run his fingers through that hair, even now, even with this time’s Barry—took in the knowing, loving eyes. He thought of calling out to him of saying his name until he went hoarse, but his breath caught in his throat. He was incapable, somehow, of speaking; his hands were sweating, there was a knot in his throat. 

“Hey, Eo.” 

A second passed—or maybe it was a minute, or maybe it was an hour—as Barry approached, standing in front of the glass. Everything was so quiet. Eobard’s vision blurred, he blinked the tears away.He had to say something. It didn’t really matter what. His breath caught again, but he didn’t let that bother him. “What’s your name?” It was hardly even a question, half stuttering and half a demand.

His brow furrowed for a moment, then relaxed. He was smiling. “Barry Thawne,” he said, indulgently, like he thought Eobard was being ridiculous, but they might as well be ridiculous together. 

_Barry Thawne._

A noise, high pitched and pitiful, escaped his throat; he covered his mouth with a shaking hand. The door to his cell opened with a rush of air; he didn’t glance to see who opened it, or who had disengaged the speedtraps. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Nothing mattered, except.

He threw himself through the door, colliding with Barry, his Barry, twining his fingers in his hair and kissing him. Kissing him like he had wanted to for the past fifteen years, kissing him because he was beautiful, because he was there. Kissing him, because if this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake up. 

The parted, eventually, and Eobard chased after him with his lips before Barry put a stop to it.He placed a finger on Eobard’s mouth, and stared at him, brows furrowed and eyes worried. “Eo…how long have you been here?”

“Fifteen years,” He said, fixated with the way the light fell on Barry’s hair. His hands curled possessively around Barry’s neck and shoulders, as if that would keep him from disappearing. 

“Fifteen? ” He murmured in confusion, his eyes growing wide. “But that would mean the day you came back was—”

“The day I killed your mother, yes.”

Then Barry was kissing him, twining him closer, knotting his fingers in Eobard’s hair. He let Eobard put his arms around his neck and just go limp; Barry supported him. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured when they broke apart. “I’m so sorry. I should have come sooner, but I never thought—”

This couldn’t be a dream, he realized, something warm and delicate growing in his heart. Not even in his dreams did he think about Barry blaming himself for this. Only his Barry would as strange enough, as self-sacrificing enough to think that he could be in the wrong.

“I’m sorry, can somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

“Yeah, uh, Barry, why is your evil twin making out with Dr. Evil.”

“More importantly, why is his last name _Thawne_?”

Barry laughed, that little laugh he did where his nose crinkled and it always made Eobard feel like he was being let in on a secret. “Is it alright if I step away for a moment,” he whispered.

He nodded, though shakily. He’d be fine. Barry wouldn’t disappear on him. He knew that. He knew that, but—some part of him couldn’t shake the thought that this was a dream.

Barry untangled them, but twined their fingers together instead. That was…that was good. An anchor. Something to hold him steady. 

Barry stepped forward; Eobard had tightened his grip on his hand as a reflex. Barry shot him a dorky grin tinged with sadness, the kind that simultaneously meant _silly Eo,_ and _you know I’d never leave you._

Barry stood in front of Eobard, with eyes for no one but his younger counterpart. Barry didn’t look at the Wests, or Caitlin, or even Cisco and Hartley. It would hurt him too much, probably. If he looked at the Wests, he’d be reminded of the family he left behind in 2024. If he looked at Caitlin, he’d remember that Ronnie would die. If he looked at Hartley and Cisco, he’d be reminded that they never would. That they would live, for years, and years, and years, both too selfish to ever let the other move on. 

Barry only looked at himself. Eobard should have protested at that, should have complained out about time wraiths and changing the timeline but—well. He didn’t think he’d be able to deny Barry anything, if he kissed him, if he called him Eo, if his last name was Thawne. “One day, in the future, you will meet a man called Eobard Thawne,” he said, enunciating every word so that there was no way he could be misheard. “You will meet a man called Eobard Thawne, and you will love him, and the biggest mistake of your life will be when you try to push him away.”

“Please tell me you aren’t saying what I think you’re saying,” the younger Barry said, looking ashen and broken. That would hurt Eobard more, if he hadn’t had his Barry in front of him, if he couldn’t hide his face in his Barry’s shoulder. “Please say you’re not who I think you are.”

“You know who I am.” 

“He—he _killed_ my _mom_.”

“Yeah. He did.” The future Barry’s eyes screwed shut, he sighed, and then opened his eyes again. “And you know what? I forgave him for that a long time ago. Because even though you try to push him away when you find that out, he still comes back to you. He always comes back to you. And I promise: the day you marry Eobard Thawne will be the happiest day of your life.” 

For a minute, all was quiet. 

Then Barry—Eobard’s Barry—turned on his heel and sighed. “Let’s go home, Eo.”

_Home_. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. Yes. Yes. He was finally—he could finally—

Eobard Thawne held Barry Thawne’s hand, and they ran, ignoring the protests behind them.

* * *

 

_May 1st, 2435_

 

Eobard Thawne woke up next to Barry Thawne, and smiled. It was not a kind smile, nor a particularly flattering one. Instead, it stretched across his face, slow and disbelieving, as if he had suddenly woken up with an angel in his bed instead of his husband.

Sunlight poured through the windows, golden and warm. Barry twisted in his arms.

Eobard Thawne pressed a kiss to his husband’s forehead, and he went back to sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!!! that's the end!!! i'm so happy you guys stayed with this so long! (and of course, the usual thanks to kyele who is too good to me, too pure.) I hope you guys liked it, and enjoyed the ending. <3 Thanks guys!

**Author's Note:**

> Playlist: http://8tracks.com/likerosesinbloom/bye-bye-love :D


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